Merciless
by Queen Vaara
Summary: Cato and Clove kill the D1 tributes in their sleep and continue seeking for victims. They encounter Vixen (Foxface). Cato is focused on killing her, but Clove uncovers Vixen's intelligence. Vixen is given the advantage of joining the D2 tributes. When they locate Rue, she proves to be agile and incredibly fast. Rue gains their trust rapidly, and she is allowed in the alliance.


** Clove I**

I hover somewhere at the front of the crowd. The escort's face is unnaturally white and she has a scary amount of makeup on. She looks even scarier than last year, when she had bright orange eye shadow. This year she has crimson eye shadow, making it look like she's bleeding.

The Capitol escort hops to the center of the stage, grinning oddly at the crowd. Doesn't the Capitol know how creepy their fashions are? She pipes out her name, Rosalie, I think, using her silly high-pitched voice.

Someone jabs me in my side. I hiss and whirl, lashing out and landing a blow with my foot instinctively. I could do _so_ much more damage with a knife, but apparently I'm not supposed to have one during the Reaping. I wad up some black fabric from my dress into my hand and swivel back around.

I brace myself as Rosalie delicately weaves her hand through the girls bowl. _Just get on with it already, Capitol freak._

"Saleena Rhine!" Rosalie trills, her voice ringing across the square.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell instantly, sprinting forward. At least I can actually run in this dress.

** Vixen I**

I retreat toward the back of the Reaping. I feel strangely vulnerable in my dark blue dress. I guess I should be grateful it's not bright pink or yellow or orange.

Felicia, District Five's escort, grins creepily at us. Here in District Five, Felicia stands out like a neon orange ostrich. She somehow makes it to the two bowls in the middle of the stage on her heels. I still can't see how you can move in those things.

I can hear Felicia's ridiculous accent even behind all of District Five population. She carefully reaches her hand into a Reaping bowl, the girls' one. I grit my teeth, calculating how many times my name is in there. I curse the Capitol under my breath as our escort glances down at the slip of paper in her hands. I dig my nails into my palms.

Felicia looks up. "Vixen Riverwood," she pipes, smiling at our desolate district. I swallow hard.

I can only register one thought as I mount the stage: _I am going to die._

** Rue I**

I stand stiffly in the twelve-year olds section. I have to strain to see this year's escort, Alessia. I can't locate an inch of her face that's not heavily loaded with makeup. I shuffle one of my sandals against the other one and wring my hands together behind my back.

Alessia sweeps her eyes over our ragged population. I can tell she wishes she got District One or Two. Our district is the second most destitute, after Twelve. I finger the soft fabric of my dress nervously as our escort strides to the two bowls on the stage. My breathing's starting to get shallow, and my heart feels like it's inside my throat.

Alessia presses her bright red lips together in a forced smile and hovers her hand above the bowl. I tuck a strand of my hair over my ear. I watch anxiously with the other people of District Eleven, wiping my hand on my dress. Alessia plucks the strip of paper at the top of the pile and smooths it open.

I bite my lip and taste the salty flavor of blood.

Alessia glances up, her smile somehow still plastered on. "Rue Cyprus," she twitters quickly, her tone light and crisp.

_ Did she just say my name? _I almost stop breathing. I clench my hands into fists and force air through my mouth. The crowd in front of me separates so I can walk up to the stage. I strut to Alessia stiffly, mounting the stage, and she goes over to the boys' bowl. I attempt to smile a little, but I end up looking down sheepishly at my golden sandals.

"Thresh Ayer," I hear Alessia say faintly. There is some movement in the eighteen-year old section, and a bulky boy walks in robotic steps up to Alessia, his face devoid of all emotion. I hunch my shoulders and glance up at him.

"Shake hands," Alessia trills. I cringe at her voice. Thresh is still staring straight ahead when we grasp each others' hands. Then his eyes flick down to me and he give a small smile. Is it supposed to be sympatric or encouraging?

** Clove II**

Rosalie plasters on that fake grin again and questions my name.

"Clove Elfron," I reply, smirking. _I just volunteered, and I will win the Hunger Games._

I barely notice when Rosalie snatches up a slip of paper from the boys' bowl, but I cringe when I hear her high voice. _Quit the accent already, okay?_ I think, glaring at our escort.

I drone out our escort's voice and choose to scan my eyes over the crowd.

"Now shake hands!" Rosalie squeals, motioning to District Two's boy tribute. I glimpse the face. Cato. Well, he'll put up a fight, but not if I creep up on him and put a knife into his back. I can't help grinning in elation.

Cato and I shake awkwardly, and then the mayor starts droning out the dreary Treaty of Treason.

** Cato I**

I'll have to watch my back. Clove, the girl with the knives, is a tribute. And I'll earn a knife in the back if I'm not careful. Then I flex my hands. But they'll all have to watch out, too.


End file.
